The Twelve Days of Christmas
by SailingAwaySoftly
Summary: A collection of holiday-themed one shots, full of mirth, magic, mischief, misgivings, merriment, and lovemaking? Including such beloved characters as Lizzie and Remus, Rue and Oliver, and more than a few new faces paired with canon characters. Happy Xmas!
1. I'm Beginning To See The Light

**I'm Beginning To See The Light**

I literally fell into my flat after finally pushing open the door. Christmas shopping had become a day-long excursion, mostly because it seemed every witch and wizard decided to do some last minute holiday shopping. As I lurched forward, all my packages and bags _naturally_ went flying and scattered about the small foyer.

Fan-bloody-tastic.

I huffed before collecting them back up in my arms and running to my bedroom, unceremoniously tossing them on my bed. I dropped to my knees and reached under my bed, blindly feeling around for wrapping paper, which I swear I had.

Books... more books... journals..._ Hogwarts: A History_...

Wait. How long had that been there?

I shook my head. Piddly-diddly and all that nonsense.

My hands finally found the long tube-like thing and I pulled it out, inspecting the paper. Green plaid. Functional, yet classy. Or at least I thought so...

Right, so I stood and frantically searched through the million bags I had on my bed. Tissue paper everywhere, box lids hanging open.

Where had I put Remus' present?

Panicking, I turned and ran back to the front door.

"Oh, pocket watch," I cooed, "Wherefore art thou?"

I laughed to myself, realising my Olde English "Froodian Slip", or whatever that barmy psycho-muggle came up with way back when.

Was that even the proper pronunciation? It probably would sound better with phlegm, so it got that harsh, guttural sound... I'd have to ask Lily about it. Not that she would know German. But maybe she does?

I mentally slapped myself. _Stop thinking such nonsense, Lizzie! You need to find Remus' present!_

Oh, where could it be? I was about to head back out and search the stairwell when I spotted the small, mahogany box. I think I let out an awkward squeal before I jumped for it and scurried back to my room to wrap it.

I quickly pushed all the other gifts to the other side of my mattress, and, with the flick of my wand, the plaid paper began to wrap itself around the small box. I shed myself of my robes and went to change.

Remus was coming over tonight before I went back north to spend the holiday with my parents. I wanted to look presentable, at the very least.

I pulled on a long sleeved, knee length maroon dress that I had stolen from Bridget last week. I looked pretty good. I mean, if I were a bloke, I'd take me out on a date... Yeah. My hair, however, was being most uncooperative, and so I just pulled it back into a ponytail.

I slipped on a pair of flats and went back to the bed to write his name on the gift tag before sticking one of those muggle, ready-made shiny bows on top.

Sometimes, they really do have good ideas.

I went out to the living room, hiding the box behind a picture frame. Remus and I had sort of made a deal not to get each other anything, but I had gone ahead anyway. I just didn't want him to feel obligated to get me anything seeing as he was a little low on funds. Since graduating, he had been having a difficult time holding down a job. It was unfortunate, really, because, even though Remus was a werewolf, it didn't make him a bad employee.

And that wasn't just me being biased since he's my boyfriend.

I had just lit various candles around the room and was putting a record on when there was a sharp knock on the door.

"It's open," I called, delicately placing the needle on top of the black disc.

"Evening," Remus said as I turned around, his hazel eyes twinkling.

"Hello," I smiled back as he leaned down and gave me a soft peck on the lips. I leaned in, wanting more, but he quickly pulled away.

"I should start on dinner, then?"

Yeah, Remus. While you're at it, why not just ruin the moment?

I followed him to the kitchen, and he started pulling produce out of a bag I hadn't even noticed he had been carrying.

"Am I allowed to help?" I asked innocently.

He snorted, "Do you remember the last time you offered to help in the kitchen?"

"Um, I'm sorry, but I think that incident should be pardoned."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because _last_ time, you left me alone in the kitchen and didn't tell me that you had something in the oven, so it isn't my fault your kitchen almost exploded. You should've informed me."

"I did. You were too busy scribbling in your journal," he said, fixing me with a look.

I shrugged sheepishly.

A couple bowls of soup, pasta, and half a pecan pie later, Remus settled on the couch. I awkwardly stood, ever so slightly inching towards the table where I had hidden his present.

"Lizzie, what're you doing?" he asked warily, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, erm," I said, finally standing in front of it and reaching behind for the small box. "Just, uh, getting comfortable?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Against a table? All the way across the room from me?"

I sighed in defeat, moving forward and stopping when I reached him.

"I just got you a little something," I said meekly.

"Lizzie," he said hesitantly.

"Just take it," I said, offering the small box to him.

"You really shouldn't have," he said softly, finally reaching for it.

I sat down next to him, smoothing my skirt as I waited. The only thing that bothered me about Remus was that he took his time when he was unwrapping presents. It was like a delicate and tender journey of becoming acquainted with the box and its shape, studying the paper, ever so slowly pulling the paper away...

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Remus!" I huffed as he ran his hands over the lid.

He shot me a look, "You're the one who insisted on getting me a present. You'll suffer the consequences."

I crossed my arms over my chest and settled against the back of the couch as he finally opened it.

He looked at it carefully before lifting the pocket watch from its smooth velvet bed, turning it over in his hand several times.

"Thank you, Lizzie," he said, looking at me from the corner of his eye.

"Do you like it?" I asked quietly, leaning forward again.

He nodded, a sad look on his face.

"Er, Remus, what's wrong?"

"I just," he sighed, "I thought we agreed we weren't getting each other anything? I don't have a gift for you."

"I know! I don't expect anything," I gushed. "You made me a delicious dinner! That's enough of a gift for me."

"It wasn't that good," he said, setting the box and wrapping on the coffee table.

"Yeah, it was," I shot back.

One of those particularly oppressive silences settled over us, even though the Christmas music crooned from the corner.

I bit my lip.

"Elizabeth, what am I going to do with you?" he asked finally, turning to face me, a wicked smile on his face.

He used my full name. That only meant one thing...

"Oh, I really don't know," I said nonchalantly, moving to stand. Remus' hand on my arm stopped me, and I found myself being pulled to his chest, a gentle smile on his face.

"Happy Christmas, Elizabeth," he said softly before pressing his lips to mine.

And, well, it's not really decent for me to say what happened from there...

But, I _will_ say it was certainly the best Christmas present or thank you gift I had ever received.

* * *

**The following disclaimer goes for all chapters: J.K. Rowling owns the world of Harry Potter, not me. I'm just borrowing it and adding some new characters here and there.  
****Inspired by "I'm Beginning to See The Light" performed by Bobby Darin.  
Please review, and let me know if you have any requests! I expect I'll have another one shot or two up tomorrow. Yours.**


	2. Last Christmas

**Last Christmas**

She sat at her desk, shuffling files absentmindedly. There really was no purpose whatsoever for her to be there. She had no paperwork to finish, and she certainly wasn't still at the Ministry for the enlightening and festive company, as brightly coloured as Dolores Umbridge's wardrobe had been.

No, she was sitting in her small, cramped office on Christmas Eve because she had nowhere else to go. In fact, she had brought her pillow and blanket from home. They sat neatly on the small leather couch tucked in the corner. The thought of being home for the holiday was repulsive.

In Christmas Eves past it had always been her and her brother and her parents. Then her brother was put in St. Mungo's, which had been kept a very secret and private affair. And then her mother had died, though she figured it was due to a broken heart more than anything else. And now, well... It had been a little over four months since her father had been murdered.

Four months since she had narrowly escaped a similar fate, though she was kept under close watch these days, being the "suspiciously ambitious and quiet" Auror that she was. Through much of the Ministry hand-over to the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort, she had kept her head down.

Veritaserum had easily proved that she had no idea where Harry Potter was, nor did she have any knowledge of her father's dealings with him and the Order of the Phoenix. If anything, the painful torture of the Cruciatus Curse followed by the truth serum forced down her throat revealed she had absolutely no ties to the Order and seemed a rather neutral pure-blood in every respect. And despite her outrage at such maltreatment, she said nothing, didn't ask for sympathy from coworkers, and only missed one day of work to recover afterwards.

She had only caused a scene when she had been assigned an atrocious job from higher ups. In essence, she was to keep tabs on Snatchers. She was charged with one group in particular which included a man she had disliked since her school years.

And it was at that particular moment that the same man, the very one who she and her father had managed to put away all those years ago, swaggered through her open door and into her office.

She didn't look up from her papers, "Can I help you with something?"

"Well, aren't we cheerful?" he said, plopping down in the wooden chair in front of her desk and crossing his legs.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be? Bristol?"

"Love, it's Christmas. Couldn't be bov'red to work, could I?"

"Then why, may I ask, are you in my office?"

"Figured I might pay a visit to my fav'rite Auror," he said cheekily.

She rolled her eyes.

"An' what're you doin' 'ere in yer office then?"

"Working."

He raised his eyebrows as his dark lined eyes scanned the neat stacks of files and papers arranged on her desk.

"Right, well then I've come to offer you some comp'ny."

She groaned, "Scabior, _please_ go away."

"Tsk, tsk, now we both know that ain't what you really want."

Her long nose scrunched in disgust, "You repulse me."

He smirked.

"Hows about," he began, leaning forward, "you an' me get dinner."

"No," she said firmly, sitting back in her chair. "Definitely not."

"Raoghnailt, love, it'll be fun. You, me, some drinks, see where the ev'ning goes an'-"

"Look, as _lovely_ as I'm sure your company is," she interrupted, "I would rather not."

He didn't say anything for awhile, and she started rifling through papers once again to distract herself from her growing agitation at his presence.

He clicked his tongue and stood suddenly. "C'mon, then," he said, "I'll pay an' ev'ryfing."

When she didn't move, he placed his hands on her desk, preventing her from moving any more papers. "I'm not lettin' you spend Christmas Eve in yer office, because I figure yer used to havin' comp'ny 'round the holidays, so you have an option: dinner wiv me, or dinner wiv me."

She regarded him warily. She _was_ hungry...

"Yeah, up you are, then," he said as she pulled her robes over her shoulders.

It was a short walk to The Leaky Cauldron, not exactly Raoghnailt's first choice, but it would do. They sat at a table tucked away in a dark corner near the fireplace. Apparently, Scabior had wanted some privacy, though she was sure that they could have sat in the middle of the restaurant and, on mere reputation, could have cleared the tables around them in minutes. No one would want to sit too close to a Snatcher and an Auror, especially so close to a holiday that people generally wanted to share with their families.

She was completely silent as Scabior placed their orders. She had refused to talk since leaving her office, quite bothered with her decision to join him. Honestly, what would he have done if she had refused?

She was surprised when two glasses of mead, two shots of Schletter's Fine Whisky, and a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey were placed on the table. Scabior immediately downed a shot before turning to his mead.

He noticed her stare. "You," he said, pointing at the array of alcoholic beverages before them, "drink."

"I don't usually get drunk on Christmas Eve."

"Look at you, all prim an' proper. I don't care what yer used to," he said, sliding the shot to rest in front of her clasped hands on the tabletop.

"I won't tell anyone," he said with a wink.

Oh, what the hell, she thought. She had already agreed to come, and she wasn't paying for anything.

"Look away," she said as she raised the shot glass to her lips.

He smiled into his drink, shaking his head. He shifted in his seat so that he faced the fireplace, looking away from her. Raoghnailt quickly tossed it back, the warm liquid burning the back of her throat. She loudly set it down, signaling it was alright for him to turn around.

"You know, I think you've gotten stranger since school."

"Yeah, well, could say the very same about you. Except I wouldn't say you were strange," she said, pushing a lock of light brown hair behind her ear.

"Ah, this is int'resting," he said, leaning his elbows on the table. "What would you call me then?"

She cocked an eyebrow, "'Fouler' would be suitable, I think."

He let out a bark of laughter. "I'd drink to that," he said before taking another swig.

The meals were easily forgotten as both Raoghnailt and Scabior slid more and more into drunkenness. Scabior wasn't even sure how much the tab had been, but he did remember handing a handful of galleons to Tom.

The two sat in their corner long after their plates were cleared and only a few remaining customers remained.

"Don't you hate me?" Raoghnailt asked finally, clumsily setting down an empty glass.

"What for?" he asked, leaning forward.

He had moved his chair so that he sat right next to her, their elbows touching.

She motioned for him to move closer.

"Because my father and I, we put you in Azkaban," she said in a low voice, her lips close to Scabior's ear.

"Yeah, I s'pose I should hate you fer that," he said as she pulled away, turning to face her.

Her hazel eyes widened in fear, and for a moment he wondered how this woman was considered one of the Ministry's best.

"But I don't think I do," he said with a smirk.

She tilted her head. "No? Well, I hate you," she stated matter-of-factly.

He laughed, "You tell me that ev'ry time I'm in yer office."

Both were silent, slowly leaning inward to close the distance between themselves.

Upon realising this, Raoghnailt's eyes widened as she took in his appearance. "You need a haircut," she blurted, quickly sitting back in her seat. "And I think your plaid trousers are silly," she added without a second thought. He chuckled.

She reached for the Ogden bottle and brought it to her lips, swallowing the last few drops.

"I think you've had enough to drink, eh?" he asked, raising himself from his seat.

Raoghnailt quickly followed suit, but the spinning in her head led her to clutch the edge of the table to stable herself.

Scabior reached for her, but she pressed a finger to his chest and looked up at him sternly, "No."

She straightened herself and, after a deep breath, took a slow step forward, her hand not leaving the table.

Scabior watched, amused, for a few moments.

"Alright, you've 'ad yer fun. We'll be here all night if you keep on like this," he said, approaching her again as she leaned against a column.

She looked up at him indignantly. "Ministry only," she instructed.

He nodded before he tugged her upright, placing her arm around his middle and resting his own over her shoulders to guide her back to the Ministry of Magic.

She almost stumbled down the stairs to the public toilets, but her free hand grabbed onto Scabior's lapel to steady herself. "That was embarrassing," she commented. He only shook his head.

He pushed the door to the Gentlemen's entrance open and led her to a stall, opening it with a coin.

"I can go to my own toilet, thanks," she said, only to find herself being tugged into the stall after him.

It was an awkwardly quiet lift ride to the second floor, and Scabior refused to let an increasingly independent Raoghnailt go to her office alone.

He pushed the door open and finally released her. She turned to look at him suspiciously before walking to her desk.

"Look, you can walk in a straight line again," he commented.

She shot him a glare. "Ha, ha," she said sarcastically, once again moving the files on her desk. She stopped suddenly, as if realising something when she looked down at a small picture frame.

She tenderly lifted it, emotions contorting her usually calm and indifferent features. It took Scabior a moment before he quickly concluded what the picture must have been of. He crossed the room and came behind her desk, pulling it from her hands and setting it back on the desk before roughly grabbing her chin. She was forced to look up at him.

Before she even knew it, Scabior's lips pressed firmly against hers in a kiss that was clearly desperate to erase the painful memories that tortured her. It quickly turned hungry, though, as one of his hands slid further down her back, dangerously close to her bum, and she held tightly to his shoulders, pressing her body against his.

Only when the two needed air did they part.

"Happy Christmas," Scabior murmured against her lips before turning on his heel and retreating from her office.

Raoghnailt collapsed back into her chair after he disappeared, her fingers on her lips as she swiveled to face her desk.

"Happy Christmas," she whispered back, her eyes flicking to the clock before settling on the moving photograph at the corner of her desk.

There, her father, Rufus Scrimgeour, beamed proudly, his arm around her shoulders, after she had graduated from her Auror training. That had been precisely seventeen years ago that very day.

And her first Christmas without him she had spent getting drunk and snogging the one man she despised above all others.

Happy bloody Christmas indeed.

* * *

**Inspired by "Last Christmas" by Wham!**

**This serves as a little preview for a ScabiorOC fic in the works. Please let me know your thoughts in a ****review****! Yours.**


	3. All I Want for Christmas Is You

**All I Want for Christmas Is You**

"Oh, Sirius," a high pitch voice cooed from a dark corner of the Astronomy Tower. It was followed by a "_Shhh_!"

I could feel my nostrils flare in anger. Was there nowhere in this bloody castle I could go to escape him when I was trying to do work? No, of course not.

Two days ago I had been in the library, innocently finishing a Potions essay, when a similar squeal of his name interrupted my thoughts and left a rather ugly ink blot in the middle of my last sentence.

Yesterday, I had been contently working on an Arithmancy problem set when a fourth year _literally_ jumped into his lap and began stroking him in a most inappropriate manner. Such advances were greeted with a cocky "Oh, hey, babe, what can Santa get you for Christmas?"

Honestly, a girl couldn't catch a break.

And, to my disgust, I realised I needed only to label the brightest star in the night sky on my chart. I let out a frustrated cry, quieting whatever sexual activity was happening behind me.

A short whispered exchange, the readjustment of clothing, and shoes finally clicked against the floor. I thought I was finally alone, until Sirius Black was suddenly right next to me.

"Well, hello there, Olympe."

I grunted in response, not particularly in the mood for my friend's antics at the moment. Luckily, my thick brown curls blocked him from view as I looked down at the parchment in my hands.

"You know, you ruined a perfectly good thing there with that disgusting sound you made just now."

I quickly scribbled "Sirius" on my star chart before folding it up and turning to him.

"Really? I'm _so_ sorry," I said sarcastically. "Didn't mean to _inconvenience_ you."

He rolled his eyes, "I'll forgive you. Midnight snack, then?"

I sighed, "Yeah, sounds about right."

Our journey to the kitchens was quiet until we reached the the painting of the bowl of fruit. Sirius gallantly bowed, "Would you like to have the honour, Lady Olympe?"

"How kind of you to offer it to me, Sir Sirius," I replied dramatically. I tickled the pair until a doorknob appeared.

I slid through the entryway ahead of Sirius, who lightly tapped my arse as punishment for cutting in front of him.

"Sneaky little thing," he said good-naturedly.

I stuck my tongue out before sitting at the end of a table. Sirius slid into a seat across from me.

A house elf appeared, his big, blue eyes beaming up at us, "Can we gets the sir and missus anything?"

"Pecan pie, please," I said.

"I'll have the same, actually. Such a festive treat," he said, winking at me.

The elf nodded before plodding off.

"So," I said dreamily, resting my face on my hand, "what was her name?"

Sirius scoffed, "Hell if I know. April, or Autumn... Maybe May? I don't know. Something seasonal."

"Isn't that sweet," I said, "Sirius Black, debonair ladies' man extraordinaire, can't even remember the poor girl's name. Pity, that."

"Eh, she wasn't much to write home about anyway," he said, shrugging.

I snorted. "You're repulsive."

"Only to you," he said with a wink.

I gagged as our slices of pie were placed in front of us. We both muttered our thanks before tucking in.

"'ow's err pie?" Sirius asked through a full mouth.

"'ood," I responded, nodding as I attempted to swallow a particularly large bite.

We continued eating away.

"So, why didn't you go home for hols?" he asked upon swallowing.

"My parents are visiting Sabine in Egypt. I wasn't keen on Cairo for Christmas," I said.

"What, sand is like snow, and pyramids are triangular like Christmas trees. Sounds pretty Christmassy to me."

"Sod off, Black."

"After you, Rees," he shot back.

"What about you? Why aren't you spending your last Christmas as a Hogwarts student with James and Company?" I asked, stabbing the crust.

"I didn't want to intrude, actually, and I figured I would probably get more action staying at school than I would at the Potter household."

"That's nice," I sneered.

His bark of laughter echoed throughout the room.

We sat in silence then until we finished and the house elf cleared our plates.

"Hey, Olympe, guess what," Sirius said, resting his head in his palm, his other hand resting on the table.

"What, Sirius?" I asked. I wasn't really in the mood for one of Sirius' little trivia games.

"You're the only girl left here at Hogwarts for hols that I haven't done anything with."

"Well, aren't I special," I said. "I will rest well tonight knowing I haven't picked up some venereal disease from you."

"Come off it, I am not diseased."

"So you think."

"I got tested!" he cried indignantly.

I could only raise my eyebrows.

"Er, I was kidding," he said. "I've never been tested for anything. Because I don't have anything."

I fixed him with a judgmental look.

"Oh, c'mon, Olympe!"

"Well, then, if you aren't diseased, I shall still rest well tonight."

"Why's that?"

"Because I know that I am the only girl unattractive to the biggest man-whore to ever strut through the halls of Hogwarts."

"I don't find you unattractive," he admitted, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Why would you think that?"

I looked around the room wildly, "Ser-, I mean, really?" I asked, narrowly avoiding any "Of course I'm Sirius, darling"s.

"I'm just happy knowing we're mates and that's all. Plus, you're a Gryffindor," I sniffed, turning my nose up slightly.

"Yeah, well you're a Ravenclaw," he said childishly. "Who else would rather be doing schoolwork over hols than experiencing some Sirius Lovin'?"

"Oh, Merlin, you didn't just say that."

"I did."

"That, Sirius, is _precisely_ why I would rather finish an Astronomy chart," I said, standing. Sometimes, that boy infuriated me.

I quickly left the kitchens, Sirius at my heels. "Hey, want to go to the Gryffindor common room with me? We could play Wizard's Chess or Exploding Snap or something."

"Isn't that against the rules?" I asked, glancing up at him.

"Pfft, I have been careful to flatter and, in a way, woo the Fat Lady with my natural charm and good looks. I'm her favourite. The only problem we might have is that she might be a little jealous of you," he trailed off before guiding me to the staircases.

"Fine, I guess, though I'm blaming this entirely on you if McGonagall waltzes in and sends us to Dumbledore's office."

"She wouldn't do that," he said.

"Oh, why's that?"

"Because, my dear, I have Minnie wrapped around my little finger," he said, waving his pinky in my face.

I swatted his hand away, "I honestly doubt that, mate."

We had no problems with the Fat Lady. She only gave me a brief glance before swinging open, and Sirius loudly announced to all students remaining in the common room that they would do well to clear out, as though, if they stayed, they would be an unwelcomed and undesired audience to some secret act.

"That was unnecessary," I said as I pulled a pillow from the sofa and settled on the floor.

Sirius grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table before sitting across from me.

We played well into the wee small hours of the morning. A long yawn made me realise the time and just how tired I was.

I stood, "I should probably get back."

Sirius frowned, "Yeah, I guess. I'll walk you."

"Er, alright. Thanks," I said as he stood and led the way out the portrait hole and to the Ravenclaw Tower.

We were silent for most of the journey, until Sirius broke it. "Do you ever worry about them? Your parents? With what's going on and all..."

"Of course I do," I said softly. They had been eager to join the Order of the Phoenix, very much against this Dark Lord's cause, and had done so at the end of last term.

"I'm going to join after graduation," he said.

"I was thinking about it too," I agreed.

He sighed before starting up the spiral staircase. I came up behind him on the landing and reached for the bronze eagle knocker.

"What four letter word is the cause of most of the discord in the world, as well as most of the cooperation?" it asked.

I thought for a moment, self-conscious as Sirius looked down at me.

"Love," I answered meekly.

The door swung open and I was halfway through when a warm hand wrapped around my arm. I turned, looking down at his hand before meeting his grey eyes.

"I do actually like you, Olympe," he said softly. "Fancy you, even."

"I-" I started, but was cut off when his lips gently brushed against mine.

"Mistletoe," he breathed, his eyes darting upwards for a moment.

I followed his gaze to find a sprig of the ruddy plant was indeed hanging above the door.

"I'll see you in the morning," he said gently.

"Yeah, I suppose you will," I smiled.

I watched him turn and lope down the staircase, stopping after a few steps to look back at me and flash me an alarmingly dazzling smile, before continuing onward.

**

* * *

Inspired by "All I Want for Christmas Is You" by House of Heroes. **

**As requested, a SiriusOC! Hope you enjoyed it. Do leave a review! Yours.**


	4. White Christmas

**White Christmas**

Draco Malfoy sprawled out on the overstuffed leather sofa in the Slytherin dungeon. It was a week before hols, and he had absolutely nothing to do. The two buffoons, Crabbe and Goyle, had long since ventured to the kitchens, and he couldn't bring himself to leave the room to go hunt down some unsuspecting first years or Potter.

He wondered whether there was any point to his being there at all. Perhaps he would write his mother to ask that she allow him to return to the Manor early. After all, with his father imprisoned in Azkaban, the Manor needed a master to run it.

A sudden commotion in the passageway sent him upright, expecting Crabbe and Goyle to come stumbling down the stairs with sweets up to their eyes. But no, instead Whitley Lords stood there, looking quite disgruntled at the books that now lay around her feet. She huffed, her fringe flying upwards, before she gracefully fell to her knees and began crawling and stacking the books in a neat pile.

She turned around, reaching for a book near the doorway. From where Draco sat, he got a rather nice view of her rear end and the green and red-striped knickers she was wearing. She stood suddenly, a free hand smoothing the back of her skirt much to Draco's disappointment, and turned around. Her eyes were glued to the book in her hands, and Draco was about to warn her when she ran into her little pile.

She stumbled slightly and let out a frustrated cry, glaring at the books at her feet before she kicked them down the stairs.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she said under her breath. "It's all his bloody fault anyway," she grumbled as she sent another book flying.

Draco had to duck to avoid being beheaded.

She sighed and went to start picking them up again. Draco leaned casually over the back of the sofa, "Little frustrated, are we, Lords?"

She jumped, her hand leaping to her chest, "Bloody hell, Malfoy, don't scare me like that."

She fixed him with a glare before returning to the task at hand.

Draco raised his eyebrows, "What do you need all those books for?"

"Ancient Runes project, and my partner essentially told me to do it on my own because he has a bet to see how many times he can shag his girlfriend before hols, so here I am."

"Your partner being...?"

She paused momentarily, "I actually don't remember his name. Some Hufflepuff, though. Complete tosser. Not unlike yourself."

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Did you just compare me to a Hufflepuff?"

Whitley smirked, brushing her black hair from her brown eyes. "Yeah, I s'pose I did. They're particularly good finders, you know. Maybe you are too," she suggested.

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing more, turning around and settling back into his previous position prior to Lords' little outburst.

Draco watched as she carried the stack to a nearby table, loudly dropping them on top of it and sliding her satchel from her shoulder.

It seemed as if hours passed as Draco lay there, absentmindedly watching Whitley as she worked. It was odd to see a Slytherin working so diligently on something. He couldn't help to think that she was probably better suited to Ravenclaw House.

In the years he had known Whitley Lords and, granted, that was since birth, she had never done anything particularly Slytherinish, for lack of a better word. Like his own family, the Lords were also pure-blood and had a longstanding tradition of being in Slytherin. Her father had supported the Dark Lord in the first war. However, unlike his own, Mr Lords had not returned to the Death Eaters the second time around, though he offered his country home as a meeting place and safe haven to Lord Voldemort.

He had visited their home over the summer, before his initiation into the Death Eaters. Whitley had spent her time in his presence sending him disapproving looks. They had usually been on friendly terms. He knew that his parents and hers had even tossed around the idea of betrothal between the two of them, before his father's arrest.

He really wouldn't have minded being engaged to her, he thought as his eyes traveled down her seated form. Even completely engrossed in reading she was attractive, at least compared to Pansy who, thank Merlin, hadn't bothered him that night.

Whitley sighed, "Like what you see, Malfoy? Or is my presence so irritating that you can't help but to look at me?"

He snorted. "I was just wondering what it might be like if that betrothal agreement had been signed before," he trailed off.

She scanned the room before her gaze settled on him, "Before your father was throw into Azkaban, eh?"

He set his jaw. If he knew her as well as he thought he did, Whitley was about to say something particularly stupid.

"And before _you_ went and joined up with the De-"

As the words were about to leave her mouth, Draco reached her, his hand clamping down on her shoulder and his wand pressed against her throat.

She looked up at him, her facial expression challenging him to curse her. He couldn't bring himself to do it, though.

"Just," he sighed, lowering his wand, "don't finish that sentence."

The silence was tense as he remained standing, hand on her shoulder and wand now resting against her collarbone. His mind wandered briefly to the previous year, before any of this had happened.

How smug he felt as he watched her from across the common room as Pansy fawned over him. How he snuck behind Pansy's back to meet with her in broom closets, or the Astronomy Tower, or hidden passageways. How her lips felt against his...

He wondered if that was all he needed now. If this depression and sluggishness he had been experiencing of late only needed her comforting touch.

"Draco," she said softly, bringing his attention back to her.

He sniffed, realising that familiar burn in his chest and stinging in his eyes. He mentally scolded himself. _Don't be a blubbering twat, Draco. Get a hold of yourself_.

"Draco, what's wrong?" she whispered, her chair screeching as she stood up.

"You wouldn't understand," he breathed.

"Oh yeah? Try me," she huffed, her hands on her hips.

He didn't know why he did it, but his arms snaked around her waist and he pulled Whitley to him. His lips pressed firmly against hers for a moment.

Whatever comfort he felt at the sudden contact was fleeting as Crabbe and Goyle loudly made their presence known.

Whitley literally flew from his arms. Draco turned to glare at the pair.

"It's snowing!" Goyle boomed before dragging Crabbe after him.

Draco rolled his eyes, the desire to invite Whitley back up to his dormitory overwhelming.

She, however, had another plan in mind. Her eyes were wide and she took off after the two oafs. Draco, stunned, stood rooted to the spot for a moment, before he returned his wand to his pocket and ran after her.

He quickly caught up to her, but the pair didn't stop until they reached the courtyard. A snowball fight had already started between sixth and seventh year students, and Whitley was quick to join in.

Draco ducked out of the way as it became quite clear that the game was every man for himself. He prepared his own snowball and scanned the area for Whitley.

"Oy, Malfoy!"

Something frozen hit the back of his head. He turned, ready to berate whoever had done it, only to see Whitley looking back at him tauntingly, as if their kiss minutes before had never happened.

"What the hell was that for, Lords?" he demanded, rounding on her.

She threw another at him, hitting him squarely in the chest.

"And that one?" he asked darkly.

She dodged out of the way as he reached for her, scooping up a handful of snow. He grabbed her by the waist.

This gesture was only met with her handful of snow. Draco looked down at her as it melted and slid down his face.

She started laughing uncontrollably, "The abused look suits you well, Malfoy."

He shook his head before pressing his lips to hers again, wanting the comfort she gave him. She returned the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as he deepened it.

"Draco!" a sudden screech interrupted.

They parted, though Draco didn't let go of her. Whitley stood on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder. "Pansy," she breathed.

Whitley pressed her lips briefly against his again. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy," she breathed before slipping out of sight.

He turned to face Pansy. "Who was that you were with?" she seethed.

He shrugged. "Too dark to tell," he said evenly, knowing he would be seeing Whitley Lords again very soon.

* * *

**Inspired by "White Christmas" by Dean Martin.**

**Please review!**


	5. Winter Song

**Winter Song**

Geneva West's heart was pounding as she followed the gaurd down the long, dark and damp corridor. Upon entering Azkaban prison, any happy thought or feeling she may have had was fleeting as a Dementor promptly passed by. She was left only to worry about the sight that would greet her when she finally reached the cell containing Barty Crouch, Jr.

"So, if ya don't mind my askin', miss, what's yer bus'ness seein' Crouch?"

"He was," she paused, "a friend."

He glanced down at the small brown package in her hand. "An' wha's that? I see it passed inspection."

"It's just some chocolate."

"Well, that's right thoughtful o' you. Most pris'ners don't get visitors 'round the holidays, much less gifts."

"I gathered as much," she said as she looked around.

A loud scream from the end of the hallway interrupted their conversation. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

The guard laughed, "I woul'nt be worryin' 'bout the screamin'. It's normal 'ere."

"Oh," she said softly, suddenly rethinking her decision to visit him.

"Don't you worry yer pretty little 'ead, though. Yer Crouch hasn't completely lost it yet."

"Oh, oh good," Geneva nodded.

They continued, the guard having started in on his own personal version of Azkaban's history, occasionally asking her opinion of this or that, or reassuring her of her safety.

"No one's ever escaped, not that I know of anyway," he laughed heartily.

Geneva's worry showed on her brow.

His laughter only grew louder as he clapped her on the back, "Only jokin', miss!"

"Yeah, right, got it," she said uneasily, attempting to laugh too. It came out feebly, and she quickly stopped.

"Here we are," he said, stopping in front of a door.

"Can I see him?" she asked. "I mean, can I go in?"

She swallowed, realising the stupidity of her request and almost immediately regretting it.

He looked at her uneasily, "I'll have to bind him first, but yeah, I s'pose that could be arranged."

"Crouch!" he barked as he shoved the a key into the whole and wrenched the heavy door open. He kicked it shut behind him, "Lumos."

"Ya got yerself a pretty little visitor."

"Who?" she heard Barty ask meekly.

"Incarcerous," the guard said.

"What? What are you doing?" Barty asked, panic in his voice. "Not the Dementors," he cried.

"Oh, shut it, Crouch. It's yer lady-friend. Forgot 'er name."

The thick door wrenched open.

"I'll be right out 'ere," the guard said. "Nothing funny, yeah?" he asked, pointing his wand at her as a warning.

"Right, nothing funny," she nodded.

"In ya go," he said, pushing her inside and pulling the door shut.

Geneva looked around the small room before her eyes settled on the young man sitting in the corner, hands bound behind his back and his legs drawn to his chest.

This was the worst she had ever seen Barty. His eyes had dark bags under them. His grungy hair hung in his eyes. He needed a shave and his prison uniform seemed baggy on him.

"Oh, Barty," she whispered, moving closer to him and dropping to her knees at his feet.

When he didn't look at her, she hesitantly placed a hand on his knee.

He jerked away.

"Barty, please, don't be like this," she said softly, an unintentional edge in her voice.

"Why are you here?" he seethed. "Just want to rub it in? I realise you warned me this would happen. I'm surprised you weren't the one to turn me in."

"That's not why I'm here, actually, and I have no desire to talk about the trial. It's almost Christmas."

"Really?" he asked quietly, hope in his voice.

"We always spend Christmas together, and, er, well I thought I might... You know, actually, this was stupid. I don't know why I even came. This- I should leave," Geneva panicked, moving to stand.

"Please, stay," Barty croaked.

Geneva froze.

"I... I didn't mean it. It just... came out."

"Oh, Barty," she sighed, moving towards him again. She placed her hands on his cheeks and forced him to look up at her. Tears slid down his cheeks.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far. I didn't want this," he whispered.

"I know," she choked out. "No one wanted this for you, Barty."

"Except my father," he said darkly.

"Don't," Geneva warned, looking him evenly in the eyes. "Don't say that. This isn't about him at all."

"You're defending him?" Barty demanded.

"Hardly!" Geneva said, "This was entirely your own fault. If you hadn't... you know... you would have been at my flat or something, just like old times. Just you and me."

"I would've liked that," he sighed

She sighed, noting the change in his demeanor from the mere weeks he had been locked up in this cell. His moods were dangerously bipolar, his thoughts quick and his tongue even sharper. No, this was not the Barty she knew. But she couldn't leave just yet.

"Gee?"

"Hmm," she hummed, sitting back on her heels. Her hands dropped to her lap.

"Why _are_ you here, then?"

"I wanted to give you this," she said, reaching for the small brown package next to her. She held it out to him for a moment before realising he was incapable of taking it.

"Oh, right, er, let me just get this for you then."

Barty sat forward, crossing his legs and leaning towards Geneva. She carefully untied the string bow and slowly peeled away the paper, very conscious of his proximity.

She glanced up at him when it was finally unwrapped.

"What is it?"

"It's, uh, chocolate. I read somewhere that it helps...with the Dementors."

"Oh," he said softly.

"And I know you like chocolate, so, it just kind of worked out."

"Thanks, Gee," he said softly.

Geneva smiled gently, "You're welcome."

They sat in silence until the guard banged on the door, "One minute!"

Geneva bit her lip, "Barty?"

His brown eyes bore into hers as she resolved that he needed to know one last thing before she walked away from him for the final time.

"I wanted to tell you something."

He shifted, his head cocked to the side.

"I... I loved you. Did you know that?"

"Uh," Barty began, confusion on his face.

His eyes searched hers, and he finally opened his mouth to say something coherent when the door creaked open.

"Alrigh'y then, let's get you out o' 'ere."

Geneva nodded, standing quickly and leaving the room. Her heels clicked against the smooth stone floor as she rushed down the corridor, tears freely falling down her cheeks.

He needed to know.

* * *

**Inspired by "Winter Song" by Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson.**

**Do be kind and review! Yours.**


	6. Santa Baby

**Santa Baby**

"Roisin!" my mother called.

It was the annual Moran Christmas Eve party and, as usual, I avoided the large crowd gathered in the ballroom. However, to get to and from the loo, I had to past the archway. Unfortunately, it was on my way back to join my twin brother and two older sisters in the kitchen that our mother had spotted me.

I sighed, rolling my eyes, and approached my obviously inebriated mother. Her cheeks were flushed and she was giggling, "Be a dear and entertain young Cormac, won't you?"

I gagged as my mother pushed Cormac McLaggen towards me.

I took in his appearance. Sure, the bloke looked good in dress robes, but most did. He made us Gryffindors look rather pathetic indeed, and I often found myself wondering why he even bothered showing up to these parties with his parents.

"Roisin, aren't you looking ravishing," he said, winking.

I raised an eyebrow, "Seriously, McLaggen?"

I turned on my heel, quickly leaving the room to return to my siblings.

Much to my displeasure, he found it necessary to accompany me.

"So, how are you going to 'entertain' me?"

I refused to answer and continued on.

"Well, if _you_ don't have any suggestions, I could think of a few things I wouldn't mind doing with you on this lovely Christmas Eve."

I froze on the spot, letting out an incoherent sound that I hoped conveyed my frustration to him, and looked around wildly for an escape from this boy.

"That was attractive," he snorted.

"Now, now," he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leading me towards the staircase, "let's see what's upstairs."

I struggled out of his grasp, only to have his hand wrap around my arm.

I had a vice grip on the banister. Merlin, I wasn't letting go until he did or until my arm was ripped from its socket. Whichever came first, though preferably the former.

"C'mon, Roisin, show me your room. I've been coming to these parties since I was eleven, I'd say I earned it."

He pouted.

Yes, I kid you not. Cormac McLaggen actually pouted.

"It's a complete mess," I blurted. First lie that came to mind.

"Forgivable."

"Mum doesn't let me have blokes in my room." Lie number two.

"I think your mum likes me well enough."

Lie number three. "I'm a lesbian!" I gasped.

He cocked his head to the side, looking me up and down, "I knew it!"

My eyes widened, "_What_?"

"Ah well, I could change your mind," he shrugged.

"You have got to be joking!" I cried.

He blinked at me a few times.

Merlin's trousers, this boy was serious!

"Right, so, let's go," he said, moving forward and prying my fingers from the wooden banister.

I let out a howl that I hoped my siblings would hear. It was to no avail, and I was pulled upstairs by Cormac.

"Let me guess which one is yours," he said as we turned down the hall.

Past Lorna's room, Saoirse's, Oisin's open door...

"Hmm," he said, clicking his tongue as we continued onwards. "This one!" he cried triumphantly as we stopped in front of the door with my name on its plaque.

"Well, that was hard for you, wasn't it, McLaggen?" I sneered.

He rolled his eyes, "Actually it was quite easy. Not only am I athletically skilled, but I'm also quite intelligent."

"If 'intelligent' now means 'not blind,'" I grumbled.

"What was that?" he asked, opening the door.

"Nothing!" I replied chirpily.

"You're cute," he said.

I rolled my eyes and trailed after him. He pulled out his wand and muttered a quick spell. Mistletoe suddenly covered my ceiling.

Lovely.

"If this is 'messy' to you, I'd hate to see what 'clean' is," he said, looking around as he returned his wand to his pocket.

I didn't respond.

He turned to me suddenly, pulling me to him and pressing his lips firmly against mine. I was frozen for a moment, but then pushed against his chest.

"Bloody hell, what'd you do that for?" I cried, wiping his slobber from my mouth.

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that," he said cockily.

He had crossed the line.

"I've accidentally snogged dogs who are more enjoyable kissers than you," I shot back angrily.

"Hm, let's try again then," he said, reaching towards me.

I ducked under his arm and out of the way.

"McLaggen, seriously!" I cried angrily.

He rounded on me, "You're not getting away."

He moved towards me quickly, and I was afraid for a minute that his temper had flared up as it so often did when he didn't get his way. Instead, I found myself falling backwards on my soft bed and McLaggen leaning over me.

I gasped, shocked at our sudden and very compromising situation. He took advantage of the moment by sliding his tongue into my mouth.

I pushed him away again, moving backwards quickly and falling off the other edge of the bed.

I quickly stood, "Stop it!"

"Did it change your mind, though?" he asked, leaning against the bed post with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What?" I asked, my brows furrowed.

"Did it change your mind? You still a lesbian?"

Oh, bloody hell.

"I'm not a lesbian!" I cried.

"But you said-"

"I _know_ what I said! I just wanted to get you away from me!"

"Figured. I was wondering why you had a poster of Gianni Fedele on your wall."

"I didn't know you were into Quidditch players," he added.

"Does it matter what I like?"

"No, not really. But I'll probably make the national team in the next few years, just so you know, since I'm the best keeper-"

"Stop!"

"Huh?"

"I said stop!" I repeated angrily. "You _are not_ the best keeper at Hogwarts, or whatever you were about to say. You're on the _reserve_ team, not particularly anything to brag about, eh?"

"So are you," he said defensively.

"Yeah, but I don't brag about it! Merlin, no wonder Granger hates you."

"She hates me?" he asked, moving towards me

"'Course she does! You're atrocious."

"You don't mean that. Besides, I've got you now. I'm not interested in Hermione," he said huskily, stopping in front of me.

"McLaggen, if you don't get out of my room, I _will_ permanently remove your genitalia," I said, pressing the tip of my wand against the front of his trousers.

He audibly swallowed and backed away, "Erm, happy Christmas Roisin."

"Yeah, you too, mate," I said.

He opened his mouth to say something more as he reached the door.

"Say one more thing, and your balls are gone."

His eyes widened and he threw open the door.

Oisin had apparently been standing right outside the door the entire time and was nearly knocked down as Cormac stumbled out of the room.

"That was impressive," he said, watching Cormac as he continued down the hallway.

I smirked, "I really hate that boy."

* * *

**Inspired by "Santa Baby" by Eartha Kitt.**

**Be lovely and leave a review! Yours.**


	7. Feliz Navidad

**Feliz Navidad**

It was Christmas Eve. Curfew had long since passed and the corridors and rooms of Hogwarts were silent, save for one broom closet on the fourth floor.

Oliver sighed as he pressed his forehead against Rue's. She had been busy working on assignments and hadn't had the time to spend with him during the day, and so that was why the two seventh years found themselves snogging most passionately in a broom closet past curfew.

"Oliver?" she asked.

"Aye?"

"I think your snogging technique has improved greatly."

He chuckled, "Didn't know my 'technique' was questionable before."

She hummed in response as her hands pulled his face to hers again for another go.

He loved when she did this. He had spent the afternoon creating new plays in the Gryffindor common room and hadn't seen Rue until dinner in the Great Hall with the remaining students and professors that evening. As she stood to leave, she slipped a small bit of parchment into his palm. She gave him a gentle, teasing smile as she walked off with Fiona, Rose and Carrie.

He unfolded it in his lap and smiled to himself.

_Fourth floor broom closet at ten._

It was just like Rue to order him where to be and when. But both knew he would comply. As much as he hated to admit it to himself and anybody who teased him, he was truly wrapped around Rue Von Straussburg's finger.

And he was completely fine with it.

They broke apart again, though Oliver kept his arms tightly wrapped around his girlfriend, holding her close.

"I'm really sorry again," she said. "I just need to get everything done before Christmas or I might actually go mad."

He smiled. "You're a Ravenclaw, I wouldn't expect anything else from you," he laughed softly.

"Glad you understand. So what did you do in my absence?"

"Quidditch plays."

"Yeah, sounds about right," she said, cuddling against his chest as he squeezed her.

After a while, Oliver and Rue snuck out of the broom closet and proceeded towards the staircase. They just reached the foot of it when Rue stopped suddenly.

"I was having a thought," she whispered.

Oliver raised his eyebrows and followed her gaze down to the other end of the corridor. "And that thought was?"

"What do you suppose Filch is up to?"

"You can't be serious," he grumbled. "You're just as bad as the Weasley twins."

"Well, I _did_ teach them nearly everything they know," she whispered cockily. "Please?"

He sighed, "Fine, but if we get caught-"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll tell McGonagall it was all my idea, don't you worry."

She grabbed Oliver's hand and pulled him after her.

They slowed their pace as they drew near his office. Oliver gently put a hand on her shoulder, noticing a shockingly up-beat tune in the air.

"What is Filch listening to?"

"Hell if I know," Rue hissed before continuing to creep down the wall. They both froze when they reached the door.

It was slightly ajar, letting the flickering golden glow from within cast a long sliver of light across the corridor.

Oliver quickly crossed to the other side of the doorframe and peaked in through the opening. His eyes widened and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth hold back a bark of laughter.

Rue, puzzled, looked up at him. "What?" she mouthed.

He glanced back in to see if Filch had noticed him. When he decided that he was still incognito, he gestured for Rue to join him as he took a small step backwards.

She quickly crossed in front and looked in. He covered her mouth with his hand as well to muffle her.

Rue pulled his hand down when she composed herself, and she gently pushed the door, widening the opening.

Oliver looked over her head as she bobbed along to the tune underneath him.

Inside his office, Filch was playing a record of a man singing in Spanish, wanting to wish him a "merry Christmas from the bottom of his heart."

Now, the song choice wasn't the funniest part of the little tableau.

Filch wasn't simply _listening_ to the music. No, he was wearing an old set of mauve dress robes. In his arms was Mrs Norris, wearing a red and green sweater with jingle bells sewn onto its back.

The pair were dancing to the music, Filch shaking Mrs Norris so that she jingled in time with the music during the chorus. Filch, in turn, was singing the song, despite his apparent tone deafness.

Oliver and Rue stood watching the pair until they simply couldn't hold back their laughter any longer, at which point they sprinted down the corridor and back to the staircase. They ran up them two at a time, stopping at the landing and leaning against the cool stone wall. Rue finally let out a laugh, and Oliver couldn't help but join her.

"That was," she wheezed, "the _funniest_ thing I have _ever_ seen!"

Oliver nodded in agreement, his laughter dying down.

"And now we know how Filch spends his holidays," he added as Rue collected herself.

They continued up the staircases, stopping only when they had to part ways. She squeezed his hand before turning down the dark corridor.

"Hey, Rue?" he called quietly.

She stopped and turned, "Yeah?"

He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers one last time.

"Feliz Navidad," he said, winking.

She laughed, "G'night, love."

"Night," he said, turning to go to Gryffindor Tower when she was no longer in view.

* * *

**Inspired by "Feliz Navidad" by José Feliciano**_**.**_

**Merry Christmas! The next five installments will be posted throughout the day. Please review! Yours.**


	8. The Holly and The Ivy

**The Holly and The Ivy**

George Weasley smiled when he saw a familiar light brown haired young woman walk through the front door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes an hour before closing time. His smile fell though when he saw a bloke following her.

Addison Reynolds, fellow Gryffindor, had been in and out of the store at least ten times in the past two weeks that she had been home. She claimed she kept finding more people to get gifts for and that she also wanted to "boost the local economy" since the war was over and she had finally returned to London from her travels abroad.

He sighed, resolving to help his best customer, and adjusted his emerald green vest. He hopped down the spiral staircase two at a time, quickly reaching the foot of it.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said casually, leaning against the banister.

Addie smiled warmly at him, "I know, right? I've only been here twenty times in the past week."

George shrugged, "Someone needs to hold the title of 'Most Frequent Customer.'"

His eyes slid over to the man, well, _boy_ with her.

She followed his gaze, "Oh, this is my cousin Dalton. He wanted to get something for his brother, so I brought him here."

George felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He was only her cousin. Thank Merlin, because there was no way he and his one ear could compete with this bloke.

"So, what're you looking for, mate?"

After much debate, Dalton finally settled on an Aviatomobile and a Reusable Hangman, two gifts Addie had bought for her own younger brother last week.

"Addie, I was wondering," George began as he tied up the two gifts in brown paper. Dalton was wandering the aisles, thoroughly distracted by a jar of You-No-Poo in his hands.

"Yes?"

"Would you want to hang around and have dinner with me tonight?"

_Please, please, please say yes_, he thought.

She smiled brightly, "'Course, I'd love to!"

"Cool," he said, his own smile falling when he realised how lame that sounded.

After sending Dalton off and helping the last few customers, George was ready to close up. Addie waited patiently as he tidied up, slipped a small wrapped box into his coat pocket, and made sure the door was locked before they started down the street towards The Leaky Cauldron.

"So, how're you?" she asked as they sat, the atmosphere of the pub buzzing happily.

George nodded slowly, "I'm alright. The store's been good, sales are up. Business is booming, one might say."

Addie laughed, "Wheezes aside, you're fine?"

He knew what she was asking. Having known the Weasley twins since their first feast in the Great Hall, she knew especially well the relationship between the two boys.

It had been months since Fred died and, while it still hurt to think about his brother, the holiday season, and particularly seeing Addie, had lifted his spirits some and he felt relatively, well, normal.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said with a smile.

"Good."

"You?"

"Ah, quite alright. I'm glad to be back in London, that's for sure. Right mess having to move around all the time," she said.

"Er, what's is it you do again?"

She laughed, "I hardly know, actually. Ministry sends me abroad and I write reports."

"Ministry work is so exciting," George said cheekily.

Addie chucked a piece of bread at him, "At least I'm not a stuck up, ass-kissing prude like Percy, eh?"

George laughed, "Yeah, there's that."

George poked at the remnants of his stew half an hour later as Addie talked animatedly about some tankard or something she bought for her father while she was in Germany.

He couldn't help but interrupt, "Are you going to be around for Christmas then, or...?"

"Oh, actually, I'm being sent to Amsterdam tomorrow as a 'special treat' from the Ministry. Complete bullocks, if you ask me. I'd much rather stay here."

George nodded, digging into his pocket as Addie continued, realising he would indeed have to give her the gift now.

"It'd be nice to have a hols where I'm not expected to be anywhere or anything. I just want to have that freedom, you know? Like before the war started. I mean, even with it over, I feel like I've been forced to grow up, and it's terrifying, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, terrifying," George agreed, continuing to dig in his pocket.

Where had the box gone?

"I miss the old times... joking around with you and Fred, pranking first years, avoiding schoolwork, sneaking around with that silly map... Remember when we took that toilet seat for you two to give to Ginny?"

George was in panic mode. Had it fallen out of his pocket?

"Er, George, you alright?"

"I can't find it!" he cried earnestly.

"Can't find what?"

George shoved his hand down his other pocket.

"What're you looking for then?"

"Your present! I wanted to give it to you now in the case that you were leaving, and, well, you are, so..." he trailed off.

"You didn't need to get me anything," she said.

"It must've fallen out of my pocket," George sighed, his fingers discovering a small hole.

"Here, we'll find it," Addie said, standing and pulling her own coat on.

George placed four galleons on the table and proceeded towards the exit with Addie. They scoured the sidewalks and were careful to follow the same path they had taken to The Leaky Cauldron.

It wasn't until they reached the storefront that George let out an excited cry. There it was, carefully resting on top of a small mound of snow that had been shoveled aside that morning. He quickly bent down and snatched it up, before turning to Addie.

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

She gingerly took it from him and looked down at it for a moment.

"Well, open it," George encouraged.

"Alright, alright," she sighed, slowly pulling the string and unwrapping the purple paper.

She lifted the lid of the small wooden box with a click and looked inside. George peered down, his eyes moving between Addie's joyful face and the gift inside.

There, sitting on soft black velvet was a silver necklace from which a silver and gold-detail pendant hung. The pendant itself was a miniature of the Marauder's Map, with fine golden lines outlining Hogwarts, on one side and a map of Diagon Alley and surrounding London the back. George had spent several nights perfecting it, and he was glad he put the effort in.

"George, did you-"

"I made it," he said proudly.

"It's beautiful!"

"I figured with all your traveling you might find yourself getting lost every now and then, and I imagine you'd like to have something to guide you back home, eh?" he said slowly. He knew full well how cheesy his words were, but they just sort of fell out like vomit.

Addie threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you, George," she whispered in his ear. "Happy Christmas."

A week later, George sat in the living room of the Burrow, amidst family members and friends. He wondered how Addie was spending her holiday, and he thought he might write her later.

A sudden screech and loud thud in the kitchen quieted everyone down. The Weasley family exchanged looks before all bolted to the kitchen to see what the commotion was. A white owl sat ruffling its feathers next to an oval shaped package wrapped in orange paper.

Mrs Weasley approached it slowly, lifting up the tag, "It's for you, George."

George stepped forward, glancing back at his family who were all watching him curiously.

"Well, open it already," Bill said.

With that, George immediately ripped open the paper to find...

A porcelain toilet seat.

A note was tied to it.

_Dear George, I borrowed this from the Staten-Generaal when I visited The Hague. I don't think they'll mind, do you? See you in the new year. Happy Christmas, A.R._

_

* * *

_

**Inspired by the traditional tune "The Holly and The Ivy."**

**Hope all are having a lovely Christmas. This here is a little present to thesmilingpirate. Please review!**


	9. Blue Christmas

**Blue Christmas**

Scabior set another empty glass on the bar of The Leaky Cauldron. He motioned for Tom to refill it as he started in on the row of shots in front of him.

Tom eyed the man as he poured more ale into the glass.

"Things not go as planned last night?" Tom asked as he set the glass of amber liquid before the Snatcher.

Scrabior grunted. "That's not really any of yer bus'ness, is it?"

Tom rolled his eyes, "It is if I'm going to have to cut you off from the drink because of some woman."

"Look, she ain't just 'some woman', alright?" he barked, immediately regretting his words.

"Ah, there's the rub!" Tom said, folding his arms on the edge of the bar. "You want her to be 'just some woman', but she's a bit more to you than that."

Scabior glared at the older man, "Yeah, righ', what would _you_ know?"

"I'm not the one drinking away my sorrows on Christmas, now am I?"

Ignoring the man, Scabior took another shot. He had the intention of getting smashed. There was no one out there in the world of any interest to him, especially not the lonely and cold Raoghnailt Scrimgeour.

As much as he tormented and annoyed her, it wasn't out of lust or love or anything stupid like that.

Alright, well, _that_ was a lie. Partially.

Because, you see, he did sort of want her.

And he maybe even cared about her.

Why else would he have felt compelled to kiss her last night? He didn't like the sadness on her face. He wasn't used to seeing that. Maybe from sniveling victims, but certainly not from a war-hardened Auror. What else was he supposed to do? Tell some sort of joke?

Firstly, he didn't know any good jokes.

Secondly, he'd wanted to kiss her all night.

Thirdly, well, he'd been drinking.

Yeah, he only kissed her because he was drunk. And when he was drunk, he found her usual standoffishness particularly attractive. And, he supposed, her sudden vulnerability had only amplified that attractiveness at that particular moment because of his manly need to comfort a troubled woman.

That had to be it.

"What happened then?" Tom asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"I _escorted_ 'er back to the Ministry, like a gentleman an' all."

Tom began shining a glass, "And?"

"Tha's it."

"If that were all that happened, I imagine you'd be elsewhere tonight."

Damn.

"She was sad, so I kissed her."

"She slapped you after that?"

Scabior glared, "No, she kissed me back."

"Oh... then what?"

"Well, tha' went on fer awhile, an' then I left."

"You left?"

"I left," Scabior repeated.

He left.

That's what he did best.

Zero attachment.

Snog and go.

"You mean you ran away," Tom smiled.

"Did not," Scabior said firmly.

"Judging by the looks of you, I'd say you did. And you're regretting it, right?"

Regret? What was this 'regret' of which Tom spoke?

"No bloody idea what yer talkin' about, mate."

"You ran away like a dog with your tail tucked between your legs."

Scabior raised an eyebrow. A dog?

"Because, whether you admit it to yourself or not, that one was different."

Scabior didn't say anything for awhile, instead turning his attention back to his liquid company as Tom continued polishing the glasses.

"An' what would you 'ave done, then?" Scabior finally asked.

"I certainly wouldn't have run away."

"You think I should'a fucked 'er?"

"No," Tom said, grimacing at his word choice. "If I know anything about Raoghnailt Scrimgeour, she's not one to do that."

"So..."

"You should've stayed with her. Doesn't mean you two go any further, just means you'd spend more time with her and maybe she would be more inclined to like you."

Scabior scoffed, his thoughts drowning out Tom as he rattled on.

No, if he was going to spend time with a woman, it was going to be doing the deed.

Now _that_ would've been a good Christmas present.

But then he tried imagining sitting there with her. None of their professional relationship, as she so called it, binding them. No sex. Just them. Together.

Admittedly, it was a nice thought.

But he realised that would never happen, because he wasn't going to change.

He couldn't change... could he?

She needed someone stable, someone she didn't hate.

No, there was no hope.

"I'm not saying you should marry the woman," Tom's voice finally interrupted his thoughts, "but I imagine she'd make better company on Christmas than those drinks."

"I should go find 'er?"

The door slammed shut. Tom's eyes slid to the new customer approaching the bar.

"Don't think that's necessary," he said. "Can I get you anything?"

"Whatever wine you feel like giving me," she replied, sitting two seats down from Scabior.

He told himself not to look at her. To just look straight ahead. To look at his glass. Or even close his eyes.

But he couldn't help it as his gaze slid up and down her form out of the corner of his eye.

"Dolores kicked me out," she said, her voice betraying her exhaustion.

Scabior grunted but said nothing more.

The two sat hunched and brooding silently over their drinks for the remainder of the night, no words exchanged.

Scabior couldn't help but think bitterly to himself.

_I hate Christmas_.

* * *

**Inspired by "Blue Christmas" by Elvis Presley.**

**A continuation of Scabior/Raoghnailt. Hope you enjoyed! Next three chapters will be up by the end of the night. Yours.**


	10. Baby It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note: This is borderline M.**

**Baby, It's Cold Outside**

It was the night of the annual Ministry Christmas party, and Lucius Malfoy stood amongst high-profile Ministry officials, sipping at a brandy and scanning the room.

There were two reasons why he even bothered making an appearance at this event.

One: It was an escape from Narcissa.

Two: Every year, there was some paper pushing young woman more than willing to be assessed in more physically demanding activities.

Actually, there was a third reason, and her name was Carolina Gravaggio.

Much as he was entertained by these over-eager young girls, he always ended the night in her company.

Unlike the women who surrounded her at the Ministry, she had this regal air about her that most men would find off-putting. Not Lucius Malfoy, though.

No, he saw her effortless nonchalance as a personal challenge.

And he would always win.

It was just a matter of time until she made her quiet entrance, moving through the smatterings of people in the lobby and stopping to mingle every now and then.

He would watch her.

Keep his eyes glued to her slender frame.

Memorize the movement of her gown's fabric.

Try to catch her looking his way.

Because, at the end of the night, she _wanted_ to be with him.

She was not only a distraction for him. He was not being entirely selfish.

He was _her_ distraction.

From a disappointing and fruitless marriage.

Overbearing in-laws.

A relatively mundane job that barely kept her sane.

Their... _coupling_, so to speak, was the one event they dared look forward to at the close of every year.

It was their own special Christmas present to each other, in some twisted way.

A present full of love, lust, and all the trimmings, wrapped up in a silvery and pretentious paper, meant to be unwrapped unabashedly behind close doors.

Figuratively, of course.

Lucius did not have to wait long until she arrived on her husband's arm, looking rather uncomfortable at their forced contact. Her dark hair was perfectly coifed, her scarlet gown clung to her frame.

Carolina Gravaggio did not disappoint.

Ah, there she goes, politely disentangling herself from her husband, Alexander Glyver. The mumbled excuse, and a speedy retreat to coworkers.

Alexander went straight for the drinks.

The night had barely started and he was already hitting the hard liquor.

Lucius shook his head disapprovingly.

_How unseemly_.

He spent the next hour watching the separated couple. Alexander was attempting to chat up an intern in his inebriated state. It had not been working out well for him. Carolina, ever the social butterfly, flitted around from friend to friend, talking amiably and, every now and then, glancing up in his direction.

It would not be long.

In the mean time, Lucius decided he needed a distraction, and who better than the young honey blonde seated at a table, looking longingly in his direction.

Lucius excused himself before fixing his gaze firmly on her and approaching, much like an animal on the prowl.

Instead of cowering in fear or darting in the other direction, however, the woman sat rooted to the spot, her blue eyes widening as he neared her.

Well, at least she was not _unattractive_.

Lost your company for the evening?

To which she replied: I 'aven't got any.

Lucius tried to hide a sneer. East London. Not usually his top choice for a partner, but he would make the exception.

She offered him the chair next to her. He accepted it, carefully arranging himself as he sat.

Lucius Malfoy was ever the charmer, and it took mere minutes for him to convince her that a brief rendezvous to the toilet was in order.

She asked if he needed help with his zipper.

How did she know?

She followed him, glancing back over her shoulder every now and then.

Nervous.

Self-conscious.

She did not want to be judged for what was about to take place.

They slipped into a stall.

It was a rather pleasurable experience, in all.

He kept her busy.

And at least he was not forced to listen to that atrocious accent.

She left the stall when they finished, making for the sink.

However, her path was blocked by a certain dark-haired, olive-skinned woman in a scarlet gown.

The honey blonde stammered.

M-m-m-Ms Gravaggio.

Sarah.

Lucius straightened himself and looked between the two women.

Sarah, he supposed, bolted from the room, her face flushed.

Poor thing.

She probably would not live that down, knowing Carolina.

Happy Christmases were exchanged.

He followed her from the room, down a long corridor, and into a dark office.

A frenzy of activity.

The need to press his lips against hers, her skin.

Warmth.

He hiked her skirt up to her hips.

She fiddled with his trousers.

This was strictly business, both having perfectly manicured reputations to uphold.

They took their time, savoring the feeling of each other.

Lucius was in no hurry to return to the Manor, as he inevitably would.

And Carolina was certainly in no rush to find her husband, as _she_ inevitably would.

And so they continued on for a time until both were entirely satisfied.

Fixed appearances.

Careful final touches.

One last Happy Christmas.

And then it was back to the real world, the Ministry Christmas party, an estranged husband, and a needy wife.

* * *

**Inspired by "Baby It's Cold Outside" by Leon Redbone and Zooey Deschanel.**

**If you made it through to the end, congratulations! This was particularly challenging for me, but who doesn't love a little Lucius Malfoy? (So hot...) The next installment will also be short, so please don't hold it against me. Yours.**


	11. Sleigh Ride

**Sleigh Ride**

"Weasley! Parrigan! This storm isn't going to blow over, we've got to get inside!"

Charlie Weasley turned to Lucretia Parrigan, who glanced briefly up at him before turning back to the large dragon looming at the other edge of the clearing.

"Two minutes," Charlie bellowed, drawing his wand.

Lucretia stood, approaching one of the last Romanian Longhorns on the reserve. She cooed softly, "Sophie, where did all your dinner go? You ate it all? You're such a good girl."

Charlie smiled. It always seemed like she was talking to her cat, not a beast that was easily twice her size. As Lucretia continued distracting it, Charlie quickly knotted the rope around a peg in a nearby tree.

Sophie was nuzzling Lucretia's stomach. Charlie dove for the collar around the dragon's neck, quickly tying the rope to it before ducking out of the way, grabbing Lucretia by the elbow as he passed her and pulling her after him.

Sophie let out a roar of anger, but the pair didn't stop.

"Parrigan, Weasley, come _on_!" Their supervisor, Jim Hamilton, yelled from the guard building.

"Always so pushy," Lucretia said under her breath as she ran up the stairs and into the safety of the lodge.

"You weren't even wearing a coat?" Jim asked, completely shocked.

Lucretia rolled her eyes and plopped down unceremoniously on a couch in front of the fireplace, "Unlike you, I'm used to cold weather. And I think Charlie the Bear has enough on him to be warm all winter."

Charlie sat down in an armchair across from his friend as Jim rolled his eyes and went up to his room.

"What're you getting at, Parrigan?"

"Look in a mirror, Charlie. You've put on so much weight, it's disgusting," she said sarcastically, taking a sip from the mug that had been sitting on the coffee table.

"I think she's calling you fat, mate," Roger Lindley said, handing Charlie a mug of some warm concoction before sitting down in the seat next to him.

The three could easily be called the reserve's Golden Trio. They had become fast friends during training, though only Lucretia was reluctant to befriend her coworkers at the start. Her mind was quickly changed when the two men prevented a nasty accident that would have sent her packing, and, since then, the three had been inseparable.

As it turned out, Charlie's physical strength was well matched with Lucretia's soft-spoken bravery and Roger's agility. If one was reassigned to a particular outpost, the other two requested transfers. And so the reserve officials were careful to keep them together, fostering the small team's skills.

In all honesty, it was because of them that their neck of the woods was so well maintained.

"What're you two doing for Christmas?" Lucretia asked, her gaze not leaving the fire.

Her older sister's family had recently been the targets of a particularly brutal Death Eater attack. Her brother-in-law and nephew were dead, her sister tortured to the point of insanity.

Both her parents were on the run, cowards to their very core.

She wouldn't be returning home.

Roger looked uneasily at Charlie as he saw Lucretia's facial expression darken, "I was going to visit my girlfriend back in Dorset for a few days and then the big to-do with the family. What about you, Charlie?"

"I was actually going to be staying around the area."

Lucretia perked up.

Charlie lowered his voice, "I have some Order business to take care of."

"Could I come with you?" she asked, earnestly.

"If Dumbledore says it's alright, I don't see why not."

"Wicked," she said, her mood instantly changing at the prospect of having amiable company for the holiday.

They settled in to a quiet debate over some recent article on dragon hide and its practical uses until the fire had finally died down and they dragged themselves up the stairs and to their respective rooms.

The following morning, Charlie, with a yawn, rolled over to look out the frosted window next to his bed.

Almost a foot of fresh snow blanketed the landscape.

That only meant one thing.

Charlie bolted from under the sheets, stumbling to his dresser and pulling out a chunky sweater, hat and gloves, all knit by his mother. He tugged on his boots and threw on his coat before stumbling out into the corridor.

"Roger!" he banged on his door three times before running to the other end of the corridor.

"Lucretia!"

Back and forth, back and forth, until both begrudgingly opened their doors and poked their sleepy heads out into the hallway.

"_What_, Charlie?" they asked in unison.

He knew he only needed to say one word for them to hop into similar action.

"Snow!" he cried.

Minutes later, the three barreled carelessly down the stairs, past the kitchens and dining hall, and out the front door.

Jim Hamilton shook his fist at them as they dashed by, "You three! Stop behaving like children!"

Charlie, Lucretia, and Roger didn't pay him any mind, though, as they raced to the top of the tallest hill, sleds flying wildly behind them.

* * *

**Inspired by "Sleigh Ride" by Ella Fitzgerald.**

**If you didn't know, as much as Charlie is a great character, he doesn't end up with any special girl. So I've left him with close friends for the winter holiday. Please review! I have one last installment for you, which I will post tomorrow. Until then, to all a good night. Yours.**


	12. Christmas Lights

**Christmas Lights**

I sighed, pressing my forehead against the cool windowpane and watching the flurries fall from the sky. I could see the reflection of my family behind me as they loudly sang "Stille Nacht" out of tune.

I wasn't in a celebratory mood, despite the warm atmosphere of Chilverton Elms. With all that had happened in the past month, it didn't feel like Christmas at all. From the return to England, the Quidditch fiasco, Oliver's proposal...

Honestly, what had he been thinking?

Probably something along the lines of, "Oh, Rue would be accepting and still loves me, so I should probably just propose to her."

No, absolutely not, Mr Wood.

Uncle Friedrich clapped me on the back, bringing me quite suddenly back to reality.

"Rüdiger!" he boomed.

"Yes, Uncle?" I asked, not turning away from the window.

"Join the festivities! Christmas 1999- there's plenty to be happy about!"

I huffed. Why was everyone in my family so damn happy when they were drunk?

"Look, I'm sorry but I'm just not in the mood," I said, turning to look up at him.

He sat on the bench beside me, as if my depressed state sobered him up. I chalked it up to Uncle-y Concern.

"Rue, what's got you all bothered?"

"Nothing," I hummed, turning away again.

He raised an eyebrow. "_Ach du lieber_, it's that Oliver fellow, isn't it? Do I need to go after him, _alte Socke_?"

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "No, you really don't. It's just-"

"Klaus, the good man, told me what happened."

"Wha-"

"The... _proposal_," he said in a low voice.

_Klaus_... I slid my eyes over to my brother who was talking animatedly with Maximillian and Molly, our two oldest cousins. I'm pretty sure one eye twitched out of irritation.

"I would've done the same thing," Uncle Friedrich said firmly.

"Yeah?"

"_Ja_," he said with a wink.

"And what would you be doing right now, then?"

"Probably moping," he shrugged. "Can't be sure, though. I'd make a terrible woman. I have the emotional capacity of a rock!"

Uncle Friedrich paused thoughtfully, taking a sip from his boot-shaped glass, "_Zwar weiß ich viel, doch möchte ich mehr wissen_..."

"Mmm," I hummed, "knew more about what, though?"

"Love," Uncle Friedrich said softly.

I turned to look at him, "Really? You wish you knew more about _love_?"

He shrugged.

"Mister Happy Bachelor himself? Love?" I snorted. "I find _that_ very hard to believe."

"I'm not saying I want to get married to the first thing with tits," he said bluntly, laughing. "I just think it might be nice to know."

"What do you mean?" I asked softly, turning to face him again.

"Well, seems to me he still loves you, yeah? He told you so, didn't he?"

"Yes," I said slowly.

"And," he held up a finger, "don't take offense, but I would be willing to wager that you still care for him too. You wouldn't have gone out of your way to make him jealous otherwise, knowing you. And that didn't really turn out as you were expecting, either."

"What I'm saying is, if I've learned anything over the years, it's that things happen when they happen for a reason. Now wasn't the time to accept a proposal. It's too soon; the wounds still hurt, no?"

I nodded, soaking in my uncle's infinite wisdom, even in his drunken state.

"Now, I don't know anything about love personally, but I _do _know that he loves you. And you, whether you admit it or not, do or will feel the same. I would think you should give yourself time to collect your thoughts and what have you. But when you've got yourself all sorted out, you go back to him. He isn't going to wait forever, but he hasn't shut you out just yet."

"Right," I said softly, staring into my lap.

"Alright," he stood. "I will leave you to wallow in your self-pity. Cheer up," he said, gently nudging my shoulder.

I sighed, turning to stare out the window again.

The reasonable voice in my head said that he was right, maybe I did still love him. But the embittered part of me shot back that Uncle Friedrich even admitted he knew nothing of love, so there was no reason to listen to him and his completely barmy theories.

I wasn't ready to love anyone just yet, and that was that.

I was such a cynic.

"Rue-Rue," Klaus sang, "it's time for presents! C'mon, join us!"

I sighed, dragging myself from the window seat. I wondered what _he_ was doing for Christmas and if he was just as miserable as I was.

* * *

_Oliver, come on. Try to look happy_, I scolded myself. They were going to think something was wrong, and I didn't want to explain to my parents that I had asked Rue to marry me.

The team already told me how much of an idiot I was for doing it. I didn't need them reaffirming that.

It felt right though, asking her. Because I _did_ still love her...

Even though she was so irritating, infuriating, ridiculous, rash, pretentious, pompous, short-tempered and sardonic.

Beautiful, intelligent, funny, successful...

Perfect.

For all the negatives I could come up with, the positives of Rue's personality outweighed them. They always had.

Merlin dammit.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

"Oliver, what's wrong?"

"Aye, you've been off all day."

"Don't want to talk about it," I grumbled, picking up my fork and poking at the vegetables on my plate.

"This got anything to do with Rue?" my dad asked gruffly.

How did he know?

"What d'you mean?" I asked indifferently.

Mum looked at Dad, "Well, given what's happened..."

"Glad you broke up with Bray," Dad interrupted.

"Thanks, Dad," I rolled my eyes.

"She wasn't right for you."

"I know."

"You told Rue that, aye?"

"Huh?"

"I heard you, er, practicing before you went to visit her last week," Mum said softly. "It was very sweet. What'd she say?"

Dad snorted, "Well, obviously nothing good, otherwise she'd be here right now, eh?"

Again, thanks, Dad.

"I'm sorry, dear."

"It's not your fault. It was her decision, wasn't it?" I muttered.

"I don't see why the two of ye broke up in the first place," Dad interjected.

I glared at him for a moment.

"She'll come around," Mum offered.

I sighed, "May I be excused? Not really hungry."

"'Course."

I stood, grabbing my coat from the hook and pulling it on before stepping outside.

I let out a long breath, leaning against the side of the house and closing my eyes. I could still hear my parents discussing me and Rue.

Me and Rue.

Who would have thought it would come to this?

The annoying voice in my head decided to chime in: _You'd probably be married by now if you had convinced her to stay._

That was probably true.

I turned, looking through the window at my parents, candles flickering on the table. They seemed so warm, loving, loved... Would that have been us?

I shook my head, kicking the snow at my feet.

No, that... It wouldn't have worked out.

She's too stubborn anyway.

But those two years... they weren't _all_ a lie.

She loved me. I love her.

I groaned.

This was not how I wanted to spend my Christmas, thinking about Rue Von Straussburg. Merlin knew she wasn't thinking about me.

And yet, I desperately clung to the small hope that she was.

I looked up at the night sky, my eyes fixed on the brightest star.

_Bring her back to me_..._ Please._

_

* * *

_

**Inspired by "Christmas Lights" by Coldplay.**

**Hope you enjoyed this little holiday collection! Just so you all know, I decided to do this as a challenge to myself to see 1) if I had it in me and 2) if I could force myself to make a deadline. And I did it! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, or at least one better than Rue and Oliver's. Please do me the great honor of reviewing! Yours.**


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